Crawling Part I: Quatre
by Chibi Washuu
Summary: *WARNING: DARK FIC* Quatre starts to have some regrets about the past. Bad summary, yes, but no words can appropriately sum this one up.


Crawling 

Crawling

Part II: Quatre

By: ~Chibi Washuu

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Crawling in my skin,   
These wounds, they will not heal.

I don't think I will ever recover from the wounds in my heart. It makes my skin crawl to think of what I have done. Even now, five years after the fact. All those people are dead because of me, because of my insanity. I should not have lived through the injury Dorothy gave me. It would have been better if I hadn't. It still hurts, now that I think about it. I put a hand to my side and push slightly, hoping the pressure will relieve some of the pain. It doesn't. 

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Fear is how I fall,   
Confusing what is real.

I'm afraid. God will never forgive me for what I've done, and that frightens me. I will admit that now, but only to myself. I won't show anyone else that I'm afraid, though I think Trowa suspects. He knows me too well. Or he knew me too well. I don't even know this shell of my former self. Or am I imagining things? What's wrong with me? I'm just a little depressed…aren't I? 

__

There's something inside me that pulls beneath the surface,   
Consuming… confusing…

I go to the window and look out. The moon and stars are so bright tonight, painting the desert sands silver. Everything in nature is asleep or at peace. Except for me. Only I am awake and in distress. My heart wrenches at the thought of all the beauty around me, the beauty those people I killed will never see. 

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This lack of self-control, I fear, is never ending.

It isn't fair. Why should I live when thousands of innocents died at my hand? Wufei is always looking for justice. If he wants justice, he should kill me. My breathing grows ragged and madness begins to cloud my thinking. I'm losing control. Again. Just like when I destroyed all those colonies years ago. This thought seems to clear my mind, bringing me back to the present. 

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Controlling… I can't seem   
To find myself again,

No. I can't sink that low. Not again. That would only degenerate my situation. No. I won't have the souls of more people on my conscience. I'm overrun as it is. I can't sleep at night but to hear their screams: the screams of innocents while I laughed in pure ecstasy. But I felt so detached…it was such a wonderful sensation, to finally realize the power that I had. I had the power of ultimate revenge. 

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My walls are closing in…   
(Without a sense of confidence,   
I'm convinced that there's just too much pressure to take.)

No! I push away from the window and turn only to slump to my knees on the floor. The room's getting smaller… I can't take this… The weight of all the unnecessary deaths is too heavy. My breathing races as my heart beats faster. What have I done? 

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I've felt this way before,   
So insecure…

This is not new to me, this insecurity. I've felt it numerous times. However, it is my own weakness. The others don't let the deaths touch them. Especially not Duo. How can he be so casual while my insanity continues to grow? Yes, Duo's so calm and cool. Death doesn't touch him… it's his ally. Yes. Death can be my ally. She has been my ally in the past, surely I can persuade her to join me again. I can feel the madness taking over my body. It's just the same as when Father died. Insane laughter rises in my throat and I am powerless against it. I laugh. "Yes!" I shout. "Let Death join me in conquering the Earth Sphere! These pathetic fools cannot stop me… they're too afraid!" I continue to laugh, louder and harder than before until I stop suddenly, tears forming in my eyes. 

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Crawling in my skin,   
These wounds, they will not heal.

With an anguished cry, I let the tears fall from my eyes. What was I saying?! It is times like these I'm glad to be alone. The ache in my heart is tearing it apart. I'm ashamed of what I was… what I am. I cannot forget that I can still wield that power, and how I handled it so irresponsibly before. How could I have been so reckless? I blame it on my grief, but it is I that is to blame. I did not control that grief and it overran me…drove me mad. 

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Fear is how I fall,   
Confusing what is real.

But it was the colonists' fault! They killed my father and sister. They deserved it! They deserve my contempt! But then, I think with horror, I am a colonist as well, by birth. Weren't we all? Yes. None of us were of the Earth. So by condemning the colonists, aren't I condemning myself? 

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Discomfort, endlessly, has pulled itself upon me,   
Distracting…

It is a curse of my people— my ethnicity— to be violent, I believe. There's something in the blood of the Arabians that drives us to madness. I used to think I was above this. No longer. The Maganacs, though I owe them my very life, did hijack my plane all those years ago. I stand and begin to cross the room. I might as well prepare for another sleepless night. Another night of screaming innocents and insane laughter. As I head for my bed, I am startled to see something beside me. 

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Reacting…

There's a young man with platinum blonde hair and light blue eyes staring back at me. His red-rimmed eyes are wide and frightened, and the dark circles under them show intense fatigue. His face is pale, like he's seen a ghost, but he relaxes and some of the color returns as he recognizes the other image. It's me…isn't it? 

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Against my will, I stand beside my own reflection,

It's not me I see in the mirror. It's a killer. A murderer. A Gundam pilot. I reach out and trace the lines of my eyes, my cheek, my jaw. Trowa once told me I look like an angel. I am slightly surprised to find he is right, even in my present state. My features are more feminine than most, making me seem more innocent. 

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It's haunting how I can't seem   
To find myself again,

My angelic reflection seems to mock me. 'You're not innocent, and you know it,' it seems to say. 'Your crimes are too numerous to be innocent.' My eyes harden. No. That's not right. Quatre Winner doesn't commit mortal sins and crimes. Quatre Winner is the pacifist who avoids violence at all costs and works for peace. "Well, where is that Quatre Winner now?" I ask, growing more and more enraged. The pacifist Quatre Winner is dead; his spirit plagues me in my reflection. With a sudden yell of rage, I put my fist through the glass, shattering it. 

__

My walls are closing in…   
(Without a sense of confidence, I'm convinced   
that there's just too much pressure to take)

Hot, stinging blood drips from my fist, some from old scratches reopened, some from new wounds. This is not the first mirror I've broken, nor will it be the last. The cuts will heal eventually. They would heal quicker if I would stop breaking mirrors. A sigh escapes my lips as I kneel in front of the dresser. My conscience is choking me. I feel my confidence drop lower and lower as I slip into depression and hopelessness. There's no way out, short of… I shiver involuntarily 

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I've felt this way before,   
So insecure…

Short of death, there's no way out. Looking at the pieces of the mirror, I pick up one that is slightly larger than the others and place it to my wrist. Won't this make a great story for the ever-hungry press: Quatre Raberba Winner, victim of suicide. I push harder, piercing the skin. I don't notice the tears streaming down my face except when they mix with my blood. Good-bye, world. Good-bye, heartache. Good-bye…Trowa. 

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Crawling in my skin,   
These wounds, they will not heal.

I slash upward, into my palm. I cry out, dropping the glass to clutch my hand. Crimson blood seeps between my fingers. Why? Why can't I do it? This is the fourth time now! It would be so much easier if I went ahead and slit my wrists instead of always missing. I wince. It might be less painful too. Somehow I always catch myself…something always stops me. I wish I knew what it was. Then I could eliminate it and succeed in my death. 

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Fear is how I fall,   
Confusing what is real.

But what a frightening way to die: to bleed to death. It's not something I look forward to, but it's the most logical way to deal with this. No. That's not right. She's alluring, Death. Alluring and terrifying, she is. It's no wonder Duo worships her, serves her loyally. My vision blurs as I try to examine the extent of the wound in my palm. It's not deep…and not fatal, I realize with a bit of regret. No! I don't want to die!

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There's something inside me that pulls beneath the surface,   
Consuming… confusing…

The devil is a woman, and she's luring me to her bed. I want to go willingly, but something's holding me back. There must be a reason why I keep failing in my attempts at suicide. I slam my fists on the top of the dresser, ignoring the sting of broken glass embedding into my flesh. I…I can't do it. Why? Why?! I don't understand! Something is pulling at my heart. I try to disregard it, but I don't succeed. What would they think if they found out? 'But why, Master Quatre?' 'Let us help you, Master Quatre!' 'Please, Master Quatre!' Always, "Master" Quatre. And Rashid would not say anything…just give me that fatherly disappointed look. I expect that out of him. And Trowa…what would Trowa do? Or say? Or even think? This I don't know. Even as his lover I cannot know what he would think of me now. 

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This lack of self-control I fear is never ending   
Controlling…

Tears form in my eyes and slide down my face unheeded. I don't even know him… He knows me intimately and I barely know his mind. It's because I'm an open book. Another sigh and I sink down onto the floor. I'm waiting for the day that my tears can no longer flow. That will be the fateful day when I join my father and my sister Iria. I will die by my own hand if I must, but I cannot live with my conscience. When the time is right and my heart has turned to ice for the final time, I will die. Be it by poison, knife or rope, I will not bear the weight of my sins for longer than necessary.


End file.
